


There Will Be No Grand Choirs To Sing

by asllapiscu



Series: dorogrid week 2020 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Crimson Flower route spoilers, Dorogrid Week (Fire Emblem), Emotional Hurt, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Takes place after the ending, dorothea honey i'm so sorry i did this to you, same for some ships, there's other characters but they're just merely mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asllapiscu/pseuds/asllapiscu
Summary: Dorothea always knew that once the war ended, she'd return to being a songstress. The battlefield just wasn't for her. She made a special promise, that she'd perform a special opera, just for her beloved, when everything was safe and settled.It's unfortunate that the opera has taken a drastic change.(part of dorogrid week, day 1 poetry prompt)
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Series: dorogrid week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760128
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	There Will Be No Grand Choirs To Sing

**Author's Note:**

> for dorogrid week, day 1! I chose the poetry prompt (which is laced in the story, with some sliiiight changes to fit the narrative). i love any excuse to write dorogrid
> 
> special thanks to @magicites(AO3)/@bribird_wing(twt) for proofing i appreciate u so much, all these dorogrids will be dedicated to u
> 
> anyway, pls enjoy! it's been so long since I wrote angst :')
> 
> (also ps this is in no way a lyric fic, i just did some free form "poetry" I guess, you'll see what I mean)

Dorothea is backstage of the opera house, loosening her vocals, preparing for her third show of the week. After the war had ended, Manuela and Ferdinard worked hard to rebuild the Mittelfrank Opera Company. There was no more suitable place for Dorothea to be, after all. After years of telling her former classmates and comrades in arms (and enemies…), the opera is where she felt she belonged most.

Except now, it is different. Manuela spearheads it, and because of the war, many of the original members of the opera troupe are no longer in the capital (or with them at all). Thus, Ferdinard insisted on renaming it to the Casagranda Opera Company. Dorothea thought it to be a lovely gesture, as Manuela found herself in awe. What a wonderful memory.

That’s all Dorothea is left with nowadays, anyway. A variety of memories and her love of singing. She continues preparing herself for the show until she feels a hand on her shoulder. When she turns, she attempts a smile.

“Doesn’t the Empress have more pressing matters to attend to than seeing the same opera three times?”

Her visitor smiles back, but it’s just as strained. Dorothea could nearly consider it a reflection, knowing fully well how the two of them are about hiding their deeper emotions. Though she wishes Edie would smile -  _ sincerely _ \- every once in a while.

“Hubert is back at his study ensuring everything is running smoothly. Besides, Byleth insisted…”

Dorothea raises a brow at the name, her “smile” now turning into a smirk.

“Did she now? And where is your lovely wife? I’m sure the Hero of Fodlan could just as easily access the backstage as her highness could.”

_ “Dorothea…” _ Edelgard whispers, her cheeks dusted with pink. So cute. Dorothea still can’t help but tease Edie after all this time. The mood is too somber otherwise. She watches the empress - her  _ friend _ \- compose herself and clear her throat. “She’s waiting for me at our booth. She wishes you luck.”

At this, Dorothea does offer a warm smile.

“Thank you. I do appreciate the support you two have given me at  _ every _ show,” she giggles a little at that, seeing Edie frown. She winks before turning Edie away from her, directing her back to the entrance. “But  _ please _ go sit. I know you’re worried - about what, I don’t know, stop looking at me like that - but I much rather you enjoy yourself and not worry about others.”

At the door, Edelgard stops and turns to Dorothea, still frowning. She sighs and shakes her head, and then puts on that same strained smile from before. Dorothea matches it.

“Very well. I anticipate quite the performance from you.”

“Such high praise from the Empress. I will put on my best performance tonight.”

“You always do.”

Dorothea’s “smile” drops to a frown as soon as Edelgard is gone.

  
  
  
  
  


When discussion of reopening the opera house first came about, Manuela was all over the place to find replacements. An opera is not just the singer, of course not. There’s so much work behind a performance, it could nearly make any person’s head spin.

Like Felix, for example.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Dorothea sighs into her tea, wondering herself nearly the same question. But she’s a woman on a mission, and the only way to get her idea approved is if she gets the full facts. Or at least enough of them, anyway.

“I want to write an opera. About… her. You and Sylvain were given her things, so I thought I’d ask for some insight.”

Felix looks at Dorothea, but they both know this isn’t some ploy. Dorothea’s eyes are filled with a genuine plea, and Felix has to look away before feeling ultimately guilty.

“Geez, okay, okay, I’ll help. But why not ask Sylvain? Why me?”

Dorothea was prepared for this question. She knows Felix won’t be happy with this question - he’s avoided talking about his familial past since joining Edie’s army. She even watched him strike down his own father, but has also seen him shed angry tears over it. Her hands that lay on her lap clutch her dress and tightens their grip. Why was this so hard? 

She takes a deep breath.

“I wanted to know more about… Glenn. Why she idolized him so much and the notion of self sacrifice.” Even as she says it now, it tastes like venom on her tongue. She’s the first to admit she’s a hopeless romantic, and always dreamed of her perfect knight - but never thought it came with such a price. What was so great about being heralded as a grand hero if you end up leaving your loved ones behind? 

Dorothea studies Felix’s face after she lets the question sit a bit, and sees the same venom she tastes from her tongue in his eyes. Only his “venom” feels more like a burn, and it’s crawling and licking at her skin like real fire. Then all at all, she watches the ferocious flames dwindle to a small and quiet ember, as he sighs once more.

“Do you need a drink? I need a drink. Let’s get a drink.”

Dorothea raises a brow, but follows nonetheless.

  
  
  


Felix takes Dorothea to a familiar tavern, which brings her some ease. She’s wrapped in his coat (which is always fun for her, considering how it never reaches the ground due to their height difference), and he in Sylvain’s hat, pulled low. They enter discreetly, and sit at the same booth as they always do. It’s not long before a familiar bartender arrives, and places their usual drinks before them. They each nod in gratitude before Felix immediately begins to down his drink first.

“Did you tell Sylvain we changed locations?”

“He won’t be coming. He’s taking care of some business.”

“A shame. I thought he would be since you’re wearing his hat and not yours today.”

Felix nearly chokes on his drink, making Dorothea giggle. Oh how she adores teasing the former Fraldarius. She watches him as he wipes his mouth then glares her down.

“I came here as a favor to you. Don’t make me regret it.”

“That’s fair, but really, I think we both know you want to talk about it as much as I want to hear it.” Felix is taken aback by the comment, but his expression shifts to that of defeat. Dorothea has always been good at reading people - how else would she have survived, after all? Her eyes pierce right at his, serious and inquiring. “Now tell me Felix. Please tell me about Glenn, and why Ingrid followed in his path until the end.”

It was a difficult conversation for them both. Dorothea had known previously that Ingrid was engaged to Glenn years prior. Whether or not she truly loved him, neither Dorothea nor Felix could really answer that. She could never bring herself to ask Ingrid, to tell the truth. To her, what mattered in the moment was that Ingrid loved her and her solely. But what Dorothea wanted to know most was what  _ caused _ Ingrid’s strong self of chivalry. This was the part they both knew would be the most troubling for Felix.

“I hated my father for years. A blind fool who followed a bloodthirsty ghost of a prince and said nothing more of his fallen son other than that he was a “hero.” Someone to look up to. Like he wasn’t  _ Glenn _ anymore. Not his son, not my brother - just a respected  _ hero. _ Even Ingrid got angry at me when I called my father out on his bullshit,” he takes a swing of his third drink after saying that, and Dorothea realizes Felix really can’t hold his weight in beer. He’s talking more freely, no longer hiding his rage or bitter feelings. It’s almost endearing. “Ingrid and I fought constantly over Glenn’s ideals. His image. I understood she admired him as a knight, but he was a person too, dammit. Even in the end, she became just as blind.”

Dorothea nods, her heart heavy. It doesn’t seem as surprising anymore, Ingrid’s choice in the end. But it doesn’t hurt any less, either.

“I wish I understood… what was so meaningful about dying in battle rather than living for others.”

Felix can only nod as the two just sit in silence for a moment longer, letting the heaviness of the atmosphere take them. Everything Felix has shared tonight, she’ll take with her, locked in her heart. She always knew Ingrid to be striving towards the vision of a perfect knight - she only wishes it hadn’t led to this.

Dorothea sighs and gets up, moving over to Felix’s side of the booth and ushers him up too. It’s time to go home. Sylvain would have her head if she didn’t bring his husband back home safely.

  
  
  
  
  


If anyone were to ask her, she’d be the first to admit that she had a hand in the demise of Count Varley. As soon as she caught wind of the plan from Ferdinard (as he must know  _ everything _ Hubert is doing, the poor puppy), she marched to Hubert’s study and demanded to help. She is not ashamed of this, nor is she proud. She merely did what she felt was right, for a dear friend. Hubert would even agree. 

So when she visits Bernadetta, she reassures her, again and again, that her father is of no threat anymore. She knows Petra does a better job of this, but Dorothea doesn’t mind helping either. After all, the proof is in her very own hands. In her dreams, she can still see them stained in deep crimson. She didn’t feel any guilt or fear when she clutched the Count’s throat, squeezing with all her might -

But she avoided all those details when she’d meet Berndetta’s eyes. No longer are they void and soulless, but brighter. Dorothea smiles.

“You want me to help you write your opera?” Bernadetta’s voice is laced with awe and surprise. Dorothea can see the flicker of doubt cross her eyes and already knows she’s devising about twenty reasons to reject her offer. “But I -”

“Am the only person qualified enough to write a story worthy for me to sing,” Dorothea interrupts Bernadetta and grabs one of her hands. She smiles at her dear friend, watching Bernadetta relax under the touch. She’s so grateful for the trust they share, she really does consider Bernie to be one of her greater friends. That’s why... “You’re the only one I can trust to bring this story to life, Bernie. I can sing about countless ballads and epics - but I want to sing a particular story.”

Bernadetta frowns as soon as Dorothea says that. They both know what story she means. What other story could it possibly be? Dorothea wouldn’t go to such lengths, otherwise.

“I-I suppose I could try… Are you sure Manuela will approve of it?”

Dorothea beams and scoops Bernie into her arms. It shocks her for a moment before she relaxes again in Dorothea’s presence and even laughs.  _ Laughs! _ It’s so good to hear Bernie laugh.

“Bernie, Manuela will have no choice, I assure you. Thank you.”

  
  
  
  


_ “Are you sure about this?”  _

_ “Of course I am.” _

_ “Darling…” _

_ “I wouldn’t be here otherwise, right?” _

_ “I mean, yes, but, this is your home we’re fighting next. I’m sure if you ask, you can stay behind - ” _

_ “I’m not staying behind. A knight doesn’t turn away from her duty just because of… nostalgia. I’ll be fine.” _

_ “Ingrid…” _

_ “I promise, Dorothy. I’ll be…” _

Dorothea wakes up and looks around her. Her sheets are empty, and it all comes crashing back down to her. The flash of a lance, a pool of crimson, and a scream.

She curls up into a ball and sobs.

  
  
  
  


Dorothea still remembers the day of her first performance  _ vividly. _ She takes deep breaths as she bows towards the audience, watching as roses are thrown onto the stage. The cheering and applause is deafening, enough to no longer hear her drumming heart. When she rises, she looks out into the crowd, seeing so many familiar faces - but so many are missing too. Manuela and the rest of the cast come out onto the stage, handing Dorothea a bouquet of roses, celebrating their first successful opera as the newly opened Casagranda Opera Company. Before she knows it, Dorothea is shedding tears and continues to bow towards the audience. She is so grateful -

But is still in pain. So much  _ pain. _

  
  
  
  


The rising of the curtains are no stranger to her. She was a songstress before her academy days, before the war - and still is one, today. She takes a deep breath, and begins her opening lines.

  
  


_ [ Bellowing winds and a harsh storm _

_ Oh my love _

_ Are you prepared for a war? _ ]

  
  


As Dorothea promised, Edie got her epic war opera. However, the focus is no longer on the grand Empress and her divine beloved laying waste and winning peace for a better tomorrow. With the help of Felix and Bernie, she changed the focus to something a little more… personal. Something that she must sing, with all her heart and soul.

  
  


_ [ I never believed in a goddess _

_ But I believed in love _

_ I believed in you _

_ So tell me _

_ My darling _

_ Are you prepared for a war? ] _

  
  


Dorothea’s voice shakes as the opera goes on. A story of how she joined Edie’s army and saw the horrors of war firsthand. As she sings, she details the battles, the hardships, the losses. As always, the orchestra finds it difficult to match her powerful voice, but tonight feels different. This is her third time performing this opera, and it’s almost like a ghost is right there besides her.

  
  


_ [ My lips are stained _

_ As red as your gallant lance _

_ I begged you not to go _

_ I knew it would be your demise ] _

  
  


Dorothea begins to sway and dance on the stage, as the scene of the battle begins to take place. She moves her arms as if she’s performing her spells, remembering how the sparks felt between her fingertips and the rain on her skin. 

  
  


_ [ Oh my darling _

_ I begged you not to go ] _

  
  


Dorothea stops her dancing and faces her blonde castmate, the prop lance in hand. Dorothea wrote this scene, rehearsed it, and has performed it at least twice now.

Yet the memory of that fight crashes right back to her like lightning running up her spine. She sees Ingrid in the battle field, soaked by the rain and the blood from fallen enemies slowly dripping off. She held her lance so fiercely that day, Dorothea could swear she saw her beloved’s knuckles turn a pale white. Lightning flashes as Ingrid prepares her lance, charging right at Dedue, and Dorothea’s heart sinks.

  
  


**_[ No, my darling!_ **

**_You mustn’t leave me alone!_ **

**_I was not prepared for war! ]_ **

  
  


Dorothea drops to the floor, breathing heavily as she’s brought back to reality. There is no rain on her, nor blood. She’s performing at the theater. Everyone is looking at her, concern and confusion clear on their faces. She needs to sing her next lines. The show must continue.

Yet she stays on the floor, her face turned down.

She takes another deep breath.

  
  


_ [ You silly girl _

_ My greatest love ] _

  
  


She slowly begins to rise, holding herself tightly.

  
  


_ [ You admired chivalry so dearly _

_ Yet you left me with no words to sing ] _

  
  


As Dorothea turns to the crowd, she spreads her arms open, ignoring the tears on her face as she smiles. She takes a step forward.

  
  


_ [ Don’t you know _

_ My darling _

_ When you leave ] _

  
  


She takes a few more steps, and stops. She does a grand flourish, turning fully around to now face her castmates. Her arms are still spread. She ignores the throbbing headache setting on, and how lightheaded she feels. She must continue, she  _ must. _

  
  


**_[ Don’t you know_ **

**_My darling_ **

**_There will be_ **

**_No grand choirs to sing? ]_ **

  
  


And all at once, she can only see white, as she crashes down onto the stage.

  
  
  
  
  


_ “Dorothea! Wake up!” _

_ “Mm… Just five more minutes, please…” _

_ “We have training, we can’t be late you know.” _

_ “I don’t think they’ll miss us…” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ Dorothea peeks out of her sheets, staring at a fully prepped Ingrid.  _

_ Goddess, she’s in trouble. _

_ She grabs Ingrid’s wrist and pulls her back down to the bed and embraces her. _

_ “Let’s just stay here~” _

_ “D-Dorothea!” _

_ The sound of giggles fill the room as Dorothea feels Ingrid eventually give in, both huddled tightly together. Dorothea sighs peacefully and places a kiss on Ingrid’s forehead. _

_ “I spoil you, you know.” _

_ “And I love you for it.” _

_ Ingrid rolls her eyes and rests her head on top of Dorothea’s. They stay like that for a while, Dorothea playing with Ingrid’s hair before breaking the silence. _

_ “When this is all over… I’m going to perform an opera about you.” Ingrid suddenly sits up and raises a brow at her. Dorothea looks up at her and smiles. “I mean it. I’m going to sing about how beautiful and glorious you are, of your epic conquests and graceful movements - ” _

_ “Oh Dorothy, please stop. You’re embarrassing me!” _

_ “Good. You’re very cute when you’re embarrassed.” _

_ “Oh Goddess…” Ingrid sighs but Dorothea can’t help but giggle. She grabs her beloved and drags her back down to the bed and bombards her in a barrage of kisses. Ingrid happily accepts them. _

_ “I’ll make sure,” Dorothea whispers against Ingrid’s lips, “that our love will be sung to every inch of the world.” _

_ Ingrid smiles sheepishly and it warms Dorothea’s heart. She could stay like this forever… _

  
  
  
  


_ [ That’s why, my darling _

_ I was never prepared for war _

_ Because I was never ready _

_ To let you go ] _

  
  
  


When Dorothea wakes next, she finds herself surrounded by healers with Manuela hovering over her.

“Dorothea! Oh Dorothea, thank goodness you’re awake. You scared us half to death when you fainted!”

Fainted? She takes another look at her surroundings and then realizes, _ah,_ _it was another memory._

“I’m sorry Manuela, I didn’t mean to worry you,” she attempts her best smile, but finds she can’t bring herself to do it. Manuela notices and frowns.

“All right everyone, she’s fine, she’s fine. How about we give her some space and you all finish the show?”

“But Lady Casagranda - !”

“I said go!” Manuela’s voice booms across, leaving the staff to scurry except for herself and one healer. She looks down at Dorothea and sighs. “I knew your singing seemed more powerful tonight than usual, but you really overdid it tonight.”

“I guess I did.”

“Did it come back?”

Dorothea looks at Manuela, her eyes wide.

“What?”

“The memory. When the battle scene started, it was like you were no longer on stage but back in time. Remembering... Ingrid’s death.”

Dorothea frowns and looks away. That’s exactly what happened, but she couldn’t dare to admit it to Manuela. It’s not professional of her. Hell, she  _ wrote _ this opera! How could she lose herself in the middle of it? Let alone faint! How utterly embarrassing…

“Dorothea, please rest up for the remainder of the night.”

“N-No, I can go back - ”

“Absolutely not! You are  _ resting _ and that’s that!” Dorothea couldn’t find any more strength to argue as she watched Manuela move away with the healer. She could overhear some bits, about the healer ensuring Dorothea’s safe return home, and she sighs.

She looks towards her left hand, and eyes her silver ring. Aside from the lance, it is a remaining memory that Ingrid existed once, on this land. That the time they spent together was real. Dorothea promised her that she’d perform an opera of their love. Yet here she was, performing one of her death instead, and of the pain she still feels from being left behind. She lets her hand now rest on her chest, feeling her heartbeat. It echoes in her ears, but it feels so lonely.

“Why did you leave me?” She whispers to herself, closing her eyes as she pictures Ingrid in her mind. She can see her so vividly, from her golden braid to her sheepish smile. She remembers the scent of a fresh forest, and picking leaves out of her uniform. She remembers standing side by side in battles, healing her wounds and seeing the fierce determination in her beloved’s eyes - like a reminder, that she’d make sure they both make it out alive.

Dorothea feels tears forming and brings her hand up to her face.

_ “Hey, I found something I think you’d like.” _

_ “Oh? What is it?” _

_ Ingrid clears her throat and tries not to look shy, but Dorothea thinks it’s adorable. It doesn’t matter what Ingrid brought her; she’d love it anyway. Because it came from her. _

_ “I found a book of poetry. Specifically, um, love poems. I read one line and knew I had to get it for - ” but Ingrid was interrupted by a sudden kiss from Dorothea. She cups her hands on Ingrid’s face and smiles into it. When they part, she’s still smiling. _

_ “You know me so well,” Dorothea sighs as Ingrid flushes. Yet, she smiles as she hands the book over to Dorothea, and opens to the page she previously mentioned. She points at a singular verse. _

  
  


**"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."**

  
  


_ Dorothea smiles. She can’t stop the tears of joy from pricking her eyes as she embraces Ingrid and kisses her once more. _

_ “I love it…” _

  
  


Dorothea moves her hand from her face after drying her eyes. She releases a sigh and attempts to get up. She can see Manuela and the healer beginning to move, but Dorothea glares at them both. When she finally rises, she clears her throat and turns her back to them.

“I have a show to finish.”

_ “Dorothea!” _

She pretends not to hear Manuela as she heads for the stage. She can hear the song playing, recognizing that the opera is heading into its final act. She mumbles the lyrics to herself, as if to steel herself for the brunt of the tragedy she and Bernie wrote together.

  
  


_ [ There are no choirs left _

_ None for you _

_ None for me _

_ For every heart sings a song _

_ Incomplete _

_ Until another whispers back ] _

  
  


As the curtains rise for the final act, Dorothea stands on the stage once more, shocking the crowd. However, she sees relief from the audience, and it brings a warm smile to her face.

After this, she will write no more tragedies. How cruel and unfair to the love she still treasures so deeply that she’d do this to them both. She made a promise, to sing only of their love - this final opera will be her catharsis. From then on, she will sing only of love.

_ Just for you, Ingrid. _

She takes a deep breath.

  
  


_ [ Those who wish to sing _

_ Always find a sing _

_ At the touch of your love _

_ I have become a poet ] _

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to continue keeping up with the daily prompts (gonna start day 2 prompt once I'm done eevee raiding in sword lol,,) you can find me @ mythxl on twt tho!! thanks <3


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